


Born of Dark, Raised in Light: Tales of Valdia Solus

by Kitsune_Kij



Category: Pathfinder (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Carrion Crown, Elf, Gen, Hag, Half-Vampire, Half-orc, Ifrit - Freeform, Pathfinder RPG - Freeform, Tabletop RPG, Tengu, catfolk
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-26
Updated: 2017-02-26
Packaged: 2018-09-26 23:09:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9928157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kitsune_Kij/pseuds/Kitsune_Kij
Summary: Ustalav - a land full of hard times and harder people, grim with superstition. In this darkened land, those outside of the norm face increased suspicion, sometimes rightfully so, sometimes not.Wherever Valdia Solus goes, hand signs to ward off evil follow. She hides beneath her hood for that which she cannot change - her birth as a half-vampire. Despite her dark heritage, she was taken in, raised to believe in good, and seeks to help others, but her hardships have left her a torn young woman. Now wielding new powers over both healing and undeath, she begrudgingly joins a small rag-tag group of adventurers all named in the will of her foster father.The words of the will start the group on a winding adventure through Ustalav, facing disquieted spirits, ferocious golem creations, quarreling werewolves, and more. Val, child of both life and death, will learn to control her powers of both good and evil in a land that would sooner put her to death than accept her help. And, aided by her first friends, she may just learn to value her own life as much as she values the lives around her.(Based on our campaigns through Pathfinder's Carrion Crowd adventure path.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> ((As this is the narrative of a long-term campaign, I have definitely forgotten things. Story is subject to updates from the other players from my group!))

    Never has a carriage ride felt so long. No one has elected to light anything, and I do not wish to draw attention to myself. But no moonlight means no reading. Nothing to distract me but my multitude of thoughts.

    Papa is dead.

    I roll some marbles between my palms, trying to still my fidgeting leg. The others on this ride are sleeping, except for the current driver, the only person not to flash a ward against evil at me. But that is likely only because he saw me in the darkness, and I can look normal in the dark beneath my hood. Everyone else has been staring since we boarded the carriage at sun-up.

    There are always two ways people stare: openly and full of judgement, or in furtive, guilty glances. The first are honest, but often hostile. The second only feel guilty that they can feel judgment despite what they might preach.

    **_You hate both kinds._ **

**** The words come to my mind unbidden, as always, and when I close my eyes, I see a swirl of something blacker than the darkness of my mind.

**** I do not. They simply do not know better.

    I think this back hard. Words to combat words. It is still not something easy to get used to, just as difficult to understand as these new powers that leave me both seared and chilled. The powers Papa was going to help me understand.

    _That man is dead. You do not need his guidance, only mine._

The swirl of blackness now competes with a swirl of whiteness so light that it stings my vision, even if it does not truly exist.

    **_All you would do is hold back the whelp._ **

**** _All you would do is turn this damned child into a murderer._

So it always goes, and my familiar headache returns. I open my eyes, stare down at the marbles that catch any glint of light they can. I long to play, if I cannot read. I know that if I so much as drop a marble, though, I will wake the other passengers, and two voices of judgment in my head are enough, without adding resentful stares and lashes of angry whispers.

    So I sit, and I fidget, and I struggle against sleep. We will arrive in Ravengro soon, and I can find a safe place to rest before the funeral.

    Tears prick my eyes at the thought of that word, forged between the clashing colors of words in my mind. I clasp the marbles tightly in my hands, take a deep breath, and simply start counting beneath my breath.

    The long carriage ride continues, on and on into the night.

 

\-----

 

    Ravensgro looks like any other small town in Ustalav. They have always been places I avoided - it is much easier to slip into a crowd thronged with people in a city than on an empty street where an unfamiliar face is as welcomed as a plague. The two passengers disembarking alongside me hurry off together. One of the men glances back, studying me for a long moment while I return his gaze. Rumors will spread of an impish child who shuns the sunlight, but at least I was invited here. I try to hold my chin high - I have no reason to hide.

    His thumb and middle finger pinch together, the other fingers raised like claws, in the hand symbol meant to ward off evil. I stare back, refusing to flinch, though my chest aches and I want to hide from the shame.

    The ward is useless, like so many of their superstitions. But even if it worked, I must continue to believe it would still have no effect. I try so hard to do the good Papa asked of me.

    He spits out a curse and turns, and the two quicken their steps. The other man barks an angry order at a young woman waiting by the main road. She does not flinch, and as my attention is drawn to her, I realize she stares at me.

    Kendra?

    I walk to Papa’s true daughter. She smiles faintly as I approach, but I can see tears still in her eyes.

    “Val. I am glad to see you here.” She hesitates, then spreads her arms.

    I hesitate as well, then close the distance between us, press into the embrace for a moment, wrapping my arms around her for a flash and then quickly withdrawing. I look up at her.

    Kendra is so different from the last time I saw her. Grown-up. Her thick auburn hair is out of their wild, carelessly tossed curls and up in a tidy bun. She stands tall, mourning dress carefully ironed, and her deceased mother’s necklace now fits, the golden chain and pendant carefully shined.  I last saw her ten years ago, when Papa happened to travel through the city of Caliphas, when I had just moved there. The time I had seen her before that was almost twenty-five years past, when Papa invited me back to meet his new baby.

    I think he forgot how much seeing that would hurt me. I wanted to be happy for him, but it stung that he had another being to care for again. Or perhaps he knew it would hurt but hoped that it would help me mature past that pettiness. She was a very sweet baby.

    I look just the same as I did when Kendra last saw me. Same height, same straggles of ashen colored hair, same pale skin, same attempts to hide beneath a heavy robe. But I nudge up my hood a little, try to return her small smile. The straggling sunlight stings, but her face lights up a little.

    “No one else has arrived yet,” she says softly. I can tell her smile is a struggle, because I have felt those same muscles strain that now twitch in her cheeks. The pain is clear in her voice, but it is not the kind of pain I can now take away. Even still, I reach up, taking her hands, as if I could soothe what hurts.

    “I am so sorry, Kendra,” I murmur.

    She shakes her head. “I am sorry as well. You lost him just as much as I did.”

    I did not, though. I had only spent two decades with him, and she had twenty-five years, during which I had kept little contact with Papa. I had not wanted to drag him down. I say nothing, just look down.

    Kendra lets several quiet moments pass between us.

    _You dishonor his memory by being here, burdening his daughter with your guilt._

I grimace, but Kendra speaks again, giving me something to focus on.

    “Do you know some of the others in Father’s will? Clover? Cyan?”

    I shake my head. The people I know are few and far between.

    Kendra nods, looking a little puzzled. She seems to not know them either, despite their being named in Papa’s will.

    “I have heard from no others but officials attending. Oh! Though you do know the last name.” Her smile is back, and I imagine it is now my turn to look puzzled. I hear a crunch on the path leading from the forest and turn as Kendra names the last person on the will.

    “Pix,” she says, and my eyes land on the blue-haired elf as she mentions his name.

    I tug my hood down over my face again quickly and mumble something. I do not even know what words I was trying to say. Turning back to Kendra, I wish I could simply disappear behind her.

    He is the one person I hated as a younger child, and I fear two decades away from him have not improved my opinion. But of course he would be here.

    I am not the only fledgling Papa took in.

    Staying through final farewells and Papa’s last wishes may be even harder than I imagined.


End file.
